


Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

by CaesarVulpes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anger Management, Biracial Character, Bullying, Child Abuse, Eddie is autistic, Gen, It's Eddie, Misgendering, Nonbinary Character, Other, Slow Burn, Slurs, TEENZ, Therapy, Trans Male Character, crushes are torture especially when you're a big nerd, eventual poly relationship, guess who's back! back again! self indulgent sibling fic's back! tell a friend!, mostly aftermath/referenced but later there will be some Scenes, there will be shipping but no smut bc theyre teens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarVulpes/pseuds/CaesarVulpes
Summary: High School AU. Jonathan was relocated by cps at 12 and now lives with their adopted family, the Quinzels. Things are fine, or as fine as they can be when you're a queer weirdo trying to make it through high school. Until a ginger boy shows up and turns everything sideways.





	1. Same As It Ever Was (Same as it Ever Was)

Sometimes Harley wondered if her brother was actually trying to be late. If they were, that was too bad because Pam Isley sat in front of her in first period and there was no fucking way she was missing a minute of watching her idly draw carnivorous flowers all over her English notes. Her heart fluttered just thinking about it.

So she kicked the door open with all the ceremony of a brick to the forehead.

“Time to get up!”

The room was dark as usual. Its light gray walls might have once reflected a little light but they had long been covered in grunge posters, old phrenology charts and creepy collages of…teeth? Those were new.

The long plaid lump on Jonathan’s bed contracted into a ball and issued a series of hoarse grumbles.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Your alarm went off twenty minutes ago, Jon.”

The lump under their covers shifted. “Five more minutes.”

“You get two, and then I’m gonna kick you into the ceiling fan.”

A lone blue eye gleamed balefully at her out of the darkness and a skinny hand started groping for the little Freddy Krueger figurine on the nightstand. She ducked out of the room before it hit the wall by the door.

~~\----~~

Jon still wasn’t really awake when they stumbled into the bathroom and shuffled in beside Harley to brush their teeth. At least they’d managed to actually sleep last night.

“S’there still creamer in the fridge?”

Their sister beamed at them with a foamy mouth.

“Saved it for you. Ya know. Cause I’m a good sister.”

They poked her with their toothbrush. “When you feel like it.”

This was not going to be a good day. They could already feel that sick, floating feeling in their hands. If these really were their hands at all.

“So I gotta make a family tree for History, is it okay if I put you down as my brother? I can say sibling if you’d like.”

“It’s fine,” they said absently. “I like bein' your brother.”

The eerie, pale eyes in the mirror looked especially alien today. They’d had almost seventeen years to get used to their weird eyes but they were still so unsettling and foreign in their face.

“Hey.” They looked down. Harley was looking up at them with concern in her eyes, halfway through one messy blond braid. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” They managed to force a laugh. “You fuckin’ suck at braids.”

“So supportive,” Harley sighed. “Do ‘em for me? I’ll do your eyeliner.”

“Deal.”

“So, I had this dream…”

They did feel a little better, listening to her chatter about her crazy dreams, deftly weaving her hair into two perfect French braids. It was even okay when the two of them swapped, Harley lifting their glasses and pushing back their dark, curly mop of hair to get at their face better. It was grounding to feel her touching their face so gently, applying a thin line of kohl and smearing it just so.

Sometimes Jon thought she knew this helped them. She probably did.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got WAY more of this AU but I'm struggling to make it cohesive. Maybe just a bunch of vignettes would work okay. Hope you enjoyed this little taste anyway!


	2. A Tall Handsome Man ( with A Red Right Hand)

School was always a trial. No one touched them at school anymore, not since their freshman year when Harley kicked the shit out of two seniors behind the gym. But no one spoke to them either, and the isolation was stifling at the best of times. The whispers, the mocking, those were worse. They shoved their hands deeper into their pockets. It was better than the alternative, at least. At least no one laid hands on them while school was in session, aside from the occasional errant elbow or shoulder. After school, though. They were lucky Harley’s coach let them hang around, and they didn’t dare walk home anymore.

“I’ll see ya at lunch? And at practice?” She squeezed their arm. “You gonna be okay?”

They managed to force a smile.

“Yeah,” they said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You tell me if anybody bothers you.” Harley’s eyes were ice cold now, her fingers a steel vice. “You tell me, okay?”

“I’ll be _fine_.”

She let go, finally, and took off towards her locker.  ~~~~They peered down into the passing crowds, trying for a glimpse of dirty blond hair.

And there he was, across the hall. Jervis Tetch was maybe their only friend. Small and mousy with big watery brown eyes, he was easy to miss for the untrained seeker, but all you really had to do was follow the pot smell. The sour stink followed him like a second shadow.

They raised a hand to wave and stopped almost immediately.

He was talking to someone else.

Jealousy settled heavy and sour in Jonathan’s stomach. Jervis knew damn well they had no other friends, and everyone knew Jervis was _theirs_ , except apparently for this interloper; some ginger boy almost as short as Jervis. Shabby, in a threadbare jean jacket easily two sizes too large, crowded around Jervis’ phone.

They knew it was childish. They knew it wasn’t productive. That they ought to just get to class. Let Jervis have other friends. Be a healthy, well-adjusted person.

What the _fuck_ w ere they looking at?

\---

“--a bulbasaur around here somewhere,” Jervis said.

A creeping feeling set Eddie’s hair on end and he looked up to see someone tall and scruffy glowering at them from across the hall. Was it starting again already? He hadn’t even spoken to anyone yet. He nudged Jervis.

“You wanna tell your buddy to stop looking at me like that?”

Jervis looked up, smiled and waved.

“That’s just Jon,” he said, as the stranger waved back stiffly. “They’re harmless. Very shy.”

“They don’t like me.”

“They don’t like anyone at first.”

“Smart.”

The shove was quick and practiced. Eddie went shoulder-first into the lockers and Jervis’ phone went skittering across the floor. The shorter boy chased after it with a yelp, disappearing into the crowd.

“ _Woops.”_

A tall, handsome boy loomed over him. Well-dressed and well-built, with sleek auburn hair and cold eyes.

“You should really be more careful,” he said. His voice was a thin veneer of charm with absolutely nothing beneath it. Frightening, if predictable. “You look like a delicate little thing.”

Eddie smiled with all his teeth, like this tactic was new to him. “You’d be surprised.”

There had to be an opening somewhere. The boy leaned closer, crowding him, cutting off his exits.

“I don’t think I would,” he said. There were knives in that look. Dead eyes, like a doll’s eyes. “I heard you got kicked out of your last school. How bad do you have to fuck up to get expelled in the _Narrows?_ ”

There was something shiny against his collar, just under his shirt. Something hidden, probably precious. Definitely valuable.

“Even the trash doesn’t want you? What could be that wrong with you?”

Eddie leaned up to meet him. He could already feel the kind of damage a kid like this could do, but the challenge was just too sweet. The game was just too enticing.

“ _Everything._ ”


	3. Good Times For a Change

Mrs Quinzel was where she usually was when they got home. Sitting stiffly in the kitchen, trying to look casual. They could always tell when people were putting on airs. They supposed she did it to make them feel at ease, but really it made them more uncomfortable.

“How was school?”

They shrugged, hands deep in their jacket pockets.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Nobody gave you any trouble?”

They shook their head. Thinking of the ginger boy. Eddie, Jervis said. New and already making enemies.

“You feel like givin’ me a hug today?”

They considered this.

“Okay.”

Mrs Quinzel smiled, and they thought of Harley. She gently wrapped her arms around them and they bent forward to embrace her. When she talked, it was easy to forget she was so small.

“Thanks, mom.”


	4. This is My Private Life (Come and Get Me Out of Here)

Eddie slunk into the house as quietly as he could, closing the door quickly so it wouldn’t squeak. He could see the door to his room. He was so close, if he could just…

The TV turned off in the next room.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he hissed. Heavy footsteps and jingling keys. Those fucking keys were going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He heard them in his dreams.

“You’re late, kid.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He didn’t dare look at his father except to watch the boots come closer. Too close.

“What the fuck were you doing out late?”

It was barely an hour after school let out. He’d only stopped to ditch a wallet he’d lifted earlier.

“Forgot how late it was,” he said, lamely.

“Of course you did. The fuck are you wearing?” His father plucked at his ratty jean jacket much too hard. Eddie staggered and almost fell. “You keep walkin’ around looking like a dyke, nobody’s ever gonna want you.”

“ _Sorry,_ ” he said again. 

He could smell beer but only a little, and the dirt hadn’t yet flaked off his boots. If he played his cards right he may just get out of this unscathed. Eddie studied the crunchy carpet between them, hands deep in his pockets.

“You look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, little girl.”

The word felt like a kick in the chest but it beat actually being kicked. He pushed up his glasses and looked up. John Nashton’s face was broad and flat, with thin auburn hair and mean little eyes. Stale and sweaty from a day’s work.

“Don’t let me catch you late again.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, towards Eddie’s room. Eddie didn’t hesitate, flinching to try to avoid the smack on his ass. “Fuckin’ moron.”

He locked his door as soon as it closed. It was only a makeshift bar but it gave him the illusion of security.

If he was late too often, his father might show up to his school. The wrong school. He’d run home as fast as he could to make up the difference in commute between Wayne Memorial and Gotham Central High, but not fast enough. He had to be faster. He’d steal a car if he had to.

He’d _die_ before he went back to Gotham Central.


	5. We Are Entranced (Spellbound)

He sat next to them in AP Chemistry. He sat in front of them in World History. This was. A challenge.

At first they began watching him because he was pretty. They’d managed to draw his name out of Jervis—Edward Nashton, a whole year younger than them but still in the same grade. Charming, if ambitious. Almost translucent skin, red hair and dark eyes. Beneath the huge jean jacket he always wore, he looked delicate and petite.

The rumor was that he’d transferred from Gotham Central down in the Narrows. That he’d been kicked out for cheating, for fighting, for pushing a teacher down a flight of stairs.

They didn’t believe any of it. They could see him, after all. Out of the corner of their eye they could see him writing the answers to all of the teachers’ questions, but never speaking. Could see him actively correct them on a few occasions. He was brilliant. There was a hungry gleam in his eyes, like he wanted to shout every second of every class how smart he was. And why shouldn’t he?

They shook their head. Now was not the time. They tapped idly at the corner of their pop quiz. Re-reading their answers for the third time. Not that staring would help them remember when the fucking Edo period was.

They very cautiously peeked over Edward’s shoulder. It wasn’t hard, for how much shorter he was.

He’d already filled out the test. Perfectly, they realized, as seeing his answers jogged their memory. But Edward’s body was tense in every line. His grip white-knuckled on his pencil.

Slowly, as though it pained him a great deal, he erased a few answers and wrote in...

Wrote in the wrong ones. He had to know they were wrong. He had to know what he was doing, but why?

They had been interested. Now they were intrigued.


	6. You're A Fraud (And You Know It)

Harvey gripped the sides of the sink so hard his hands were starting to hurt. 

_Breathe,_ he told himself. 

He stared down into white porcelain. Looking in the mirror always made him angrier. Seeing the stormy expression on a face that was supposed to be approachable. Needed to be approachable. Closing his eyes was worse, as his brain took it for permission to replay the stupid, _stupid_ mistake he’d made. Bruce had shredded his argument in seconds. 

_Breathe. How many holes does the drain have?_

He tried to count, but he lost track too often. He stopped before it frustrated him even more. 

God damn it, such a stupid error. Forgetting one of his major points. More preoccupied with his upcoming student council campaign than the Debate meet. The whole team saw him fuck up, they’ll start to question Harvey’s leadership, his skills, his future--

_Breathe._

His knuckles were white. 

“It’s natural to be upset,” he muttered, “Getting angry won’t help. It’s natural to be upset. Getting angry won’t help.” He slowly released his grip on the sink. “I can act rationally. I can act calmly.” 

He recited this four more times before he felt ready to face the drive home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another player enters the stage. I've never really written him before, but the possible dynamics between him, Jon, and Eddie are too interesting to pass up.


	7. The Two Of Us (All Used and Beaten Up)

It was bitter cold outside now, as September flew towards October. Jon huddled deeper into their sweater against the chill. Light jackets may have been just fine for Vicki Vale and her little yearbook entourage, but they were sitting in the sun, low on the bleachers to get the best photos of young track stars. Cross-country. Whatever. Whenever Harley started in on the details it slid through their brain without making an impression.  The cold stung last week’s scrapes and bruises, their ribs sore from countless sharp elbows. A new game, apparently, but it hadn’t lasted long before they all got bored of never getting a rise out of them. 

They tried to do their homework while Harley did laps and cartwheels and made faces at her friends. It was always so hard to look away when she was in her element. She was going to be a star in whatever she did. She already was. 

Bright orange caught their eye. The ginger boy made his way up the bleachers toward them, sporting a half-healed black eye and a pair of ratty overalls several inches too short for him. He plopped down beside them like he knew them, which just proved how much he didn’t. Nobody who knew them dared to be seen with them except for Harley.  Their ribs throbbed. 

He stared at them over thick plastic glasses that looked like they were more tape than anything else. There was something off about him but they couldn’t place it yet. Not bad, just different.

“Can I help you?” 

“So you _do_ talk.”

They looked from his black eye to his battered glasses, to his bruised knuckles, to the bit of blood still crusted around his nose. 

“You look like you talk too much.” 

Eddie grinned. The gap between his front teeth combined with his pointy nose and messy red hair made him look like some kind of demented fairy. Or Peter Pan. Same difference, really. 

“You’re observant,” he said. “That interests me. You know what people are thinking before they think it. You probably know what’s really goin’ on around here.”

They shifted uncomfortably. This was truer than they cared to admit. Letting people think they floated around in their own little world kept them a little safer. People talked more brazenly when they didn’t think they were listening. This was why they didn’t look directly at him. Instead they stole glances, pouring over their notes.

Eddie peered at them.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.”

They shrugged. Something small changed in him, a kind of nervous energy fell around him like a cloak. They could almost see it coming off him in waves, from his bouncing knees and tightly laced fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m doing this all wrong. Sorry.”

Out of the corner of their eye they could see him bite his already scabbed lip. A cute tic, or a nervous habit, it seemed.

Cute?

“Um. Shit,” the boy said. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Nashton.” He stiffly held out a hand.

They took it, an unfamiliar sort of frantic feeling in their stomach. They shook, transfixed by the contrast of their skin. They were pale enough to pass as white (a blessing in Arlen, where everyone knowing they were a bastard had been bad enough). Paler than Harley most of the time, but the dusty brown of their skin looked much darker against the near white of Eddie’s. They pretended not to notice his bruised knuckles.

“Jervis told me. I’m Jonathan. Keeny. Or, Quinzell now, I guess.”

“Jervis told me that, too. Can’t resist gossip, can he?”

“He really can’t.”

At this point they realized they were still holding his hand and jerked away.

“Sorry.”

Eddie stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket. Silence. They cleared their throat uncomfortably. Talking was always hard. They searched around for something to make conversation, anything, until…

“Is that a Black Sabbath patch?” They asked, cautiously. He grinned again and that weird twisted-up feeling came back in full force.

“Hell yeah! This little baby came from a consignment store. Big box of bullshit patches, like merit badges and stuff, and this was at the bottom. You like ‘em?”

They nodded. “Yeah. Mostly just _Paranoid_. I haven’t really listened to the Dio era but I keep meanin’ to.”

The boy nodded excitedly.

“Yeah? What else do you like?”

“Tom Waits,” they said without thinking. Heat crept over their cheeks and the back of their neck. They were supposed to say something relatable. Less strange.

Eddie didn’t miss a beat.

“How about Depeche Mode, you like Depeche Mode?”

They shook their head cautiously.

“I don’t know. Sometimes?”

Eddie seemed to think for a second, then snapped his fingers.

“I got it, Oingo Boingo, you’ve got to love Oingo Boingo, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You don’t know Oingo Boingo?”

Eddie grinned and started bouncing in his seat. Full of that vigor he’d approached with, his hands flapping.

“You gotta listen to them, I know you’ll like ‘em. They were Danny Elfman’s old group back in the eighties and nineties, real weird shit you know? You gotta try ‘em out, like... _Private Life_ or _No One Lives Forever._ My favorite’s _Gray Matter_ but that might not be great for more entry-level stuff, some people get put off by the  darker, more aggressive shit like off _Only a Lad_. But like, duel marimba solos? C’mon, it’s the best besides _Long Breakdown_ or _Gratitude,_ and _Gratitude_ is technically from the solo album but it still gets put on ‘Best Of’s so I count it. ” 

They  watched him as he went on, half-listening .  Eyes lingering on the clusters of patches embroidered along his sleeves, the big clunky watch that didn’t suit him at all, the blue veins that stood out so vividly on his wrists. 

“Can you...can you write that down, maybe?” 

He stopped cold and for a moment they were terrified they’d fucked this up.

“You. You mean it? You’re actually…” he shook his head. “No, never mind, give that here.”

The boy kept babbling as he scribbled down some titles in a cramped, haphazard scrawl.

“Never actually get this far, usually they tell me to shut up. _Ooh, Eddie, you talk too much,_ ” he mocked, his voice high and snivelling. “ _Nobody cares, Eddie, let somebody else talk, listen to me about my stupid boyfriend, he’s sooooo great_. It’s like, he’s obviously cheating on you, are you fuckin’ kidding? Doesn’t take a genius...”

They find they rather like listening to him. He seems content to fill up their natural silence.

About halfway through what they think is a breakdown of the _Silmarillion_ they realize what this puffy feeling in their chest might be.

Oh, _shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I project onto Eddie just The Most.


	8. Let’s Join Forces (We’ve Got Our Guns and Horses)

They perched on the very edge of their therapist’s broad couch. Dr Leland wasn’t threatening, or overbearing, or anything they had initially feared she would be, but their sessions still set them on edge at first.

“How are your classes going?”

They didn’t look at her.

“Fine. They’re goin’ fine. I, ah. I signed up for Spanish this semester. Wanna learn a little before I see my dad’s family again.”

Leland nodded. She wasn’t writing things down anymore, which made them feel a little better. Every time she started writing after they said something they felt like she was judging them, like they’d said something strange or wrong. She recorded everything now.

“Why?”

They tried not to fidget. Sat hunched, hands on their knees, toying with the holes in their jeans.

“I figure maybe it’ll help me with them. You know, make things a little smoother.”

“Why do you call them your dad’s family? Aren’t they your family, too?” Dr Leland’s face remained impassive as usual. That was another thing they liked about her. She remained calm and constant, and made it easier to stomp down their worries of upsetting her. They were sure some people found it alarming, her emotionless mask. For them, it was deeply reassuring, more than any of their previous therapists’ platitudes and gentle smiles.

“I—I guess so, but it doesn’t feel like it. Feels like I was a mistake he’s trying to make up for, and his _real_ family has to put up with me.” They pull a few dark threads loose. “I mean, I _was_ a mistake, and I feel like he’s just been dodgin’ around that for the last couple years. He _says_ he wants to be a part of my life, but I can’t help feel like he’s just sorry for me.” 

Leland nodded again.

“Have you spoken to him about this?” She said. “I think it would help you to have an honest discussion with your father.”

They picked at their black nail polish, which was better than picking sores onto their fingers.

“I get so _nervous_. Dunno why I’m so desperate to please somebody I barely know.”

“He matters to you.” She leaned forward in her chair, just a little. “It’s okay that he matters to you. He’s your father. It’s okay that you want his approval.”

“I,” they started, then faltered. “I...I want to be part of their family, but I don’t know how. Nina—his wife,” they amended, “She’s been so _nice_ and I expected her to hate me. I expected them all to hate me, this weird queer kid who barely even looks like ‘em, but they _don’t._ I don’t know where I stand with them.” 

“Ask,” Leland said, simply. “The uncertainty, I think, hurts you more than anything. If you know how one another feels, you can work together to build the relationship you both want.” 

They took a breath and nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Leland sat back, just a little. It was her only real tell. It meant, from what they could tell, that she knew they wanted to change the subject.

“Did anything new happen since we last spoke?”

They thought for a full thirty seconds about whether it would be worth it to tell her.

“There’s...” They cleared their throat awkwardly. They’d have to tell someone eventually. Their mom, and Harley—oh god, Harley was going to be a fucking _demon_ about this.

“There’s a boy,” They managed. Their face burned. 

\---  


“Give it back!”

Eddie Nashton wasn’t tall but he looked willing to literally climb Roman to get to his face. It was like watching a big, stupid bear fight a weasel. It would almost be funny, if Harvey didn’t know how bad at least one of them was going to get hurt if someone didn’t do something.

_Someone_ would never do anything. If something needed done, you had to do it yourself, so he stepped up close enough to smell the classicism and Old Spice.

“What’s going on here?”

Eddie stomped heavy booted feet and practically shrieked, red-faced.

“He _stole_ my Pokemon cards.”

“ _You_ knocked into _me,_ asshole.” Roman snapped. 

“I’ll fuckin’ _kill you!”_

Harvey believed him. He didn't believe the rumors that this kid had _already_ killed someone, but Harvey believed Eddie’s bruised knuckles, green with age but many-layered.

“You spent money on those, didn’t you?”

Eddie scowled at him, skinny fingers still holding tight to Roman’s shirt.

“Yeah,” he said. He sounded defensive. He’d have to look into that later, find out if someone else was picking on him. As much for their protection as his—those green eyes were sharp and utterly vicious.

Harvey took another step forward, into their shared personal space. He was taller and stronger, but Roman Sionis didn’t scare easily. He was the type to come back later with a vengeance if Harvey didn’t give him a reason to stay away.

“You could press charges.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Roman’s face, his grip shifting on the binder. The colorful corner of a sticker peeled up as his knuckles slowly went white. Harvey looked him in the eye.

“Could even bump it up to Grand Larceny if they’re worth enough. I’m sure your _dad_ would be proud, Roman.”

A twitch. Roman dropped the binder as though burned, casting it aside across the ugly gray epoxy floor. Eddie scrambled after it. Roman’s dark eyes stayed on Harvey’s face.

“Talk about my dad again and see what happens.”

“Don’t threaten me, Roman. And don’t let me catch you pulling this shit again.” He couldn’t help the smirk that crawled across his face. Roman wasn’t stupid, but he was easy to manipulate, and all that posturing and throwing his weight around left him off balance.

Roman scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fuck you,” he muttered, shouldering Harvey aside as he stomped away down the hall.

As soon as he was out of sight, Harvey turned back to the other boy, took a knee to help him gather his cards. The rings had popped open on impact and scattered plastic sleeves everywhere.

“You okay? He hurt you?”

Eddie shook his head, wiping roughly at his eyes and sniffling. His hands were shaking so badly, his angry movements so clumsy, that he kept dropping the sleeves everywhere and couldn’t seem to get the rings through the holes. This only made him angrier, until he slammed his bruised hands down on the cold floor.

“Hey, hey. Let me help you.” Harvey gathered what he dropped, slipped the pages in place with ease. “Take some breaths. I know you’re mad, it’s okay to be mad at assholes like him. Let me do this, you’ll just work yourself up more.”

It felt weird to be helping someone else through their rage. Ass-backwards and awkward. But, maybe good?

“I’m Harvey Dent.”

“I fucking know,” Eddie snapped. “Your campaign posters are all over the place and we have Algebra together.”

“I’m...sorry?”

“Don’t apologize, just don’t tell me things that are fucking obvious.”

_Backtrack and regroup,_ Harvey thought.  _You can do this. He’s upset, don’t get frustrated._

“You don’t miss much, do you?” 

Eddie sniffled again, but seemed to be calming. His hands were steady and his face wasn’t as red. He shook his head, pulling the now repaired binder towards himself.

“Why did you help me? Is this a hobby of yours?” 

Harvey got up, offering a hand to help the other boy up. 

“Not really. I just. I thought someone should do something.” 

Eddie fixed piercing eyes on him. 

“...thanks.” 

Harvey smiled. Less intense than his Student Council smile, but not as genuine as the one he usually only shared with Bruce. Calculated to bolster, but not intimidate. He almost felt like a good person. Trying to like himself was hard, but acting nice was easy.

“You want to eat with me? It’s just me and my friend at our table, and it’s not too noisy.”

Eddie looked uncertain, eyes fixed somewhere behind Harvey. 

“You won’t have to talk if you don’t want. He won’t think you’re weird or anything, I promise.”

The boy chewed his lip for a moment before taking his hand. 

“Yeah, okay.” 


End file.
